


Obedience

by randomnickname



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Alcohol, Body Shots, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shame kink, lap dance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-27 00:52:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14414133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomnickname/pseuds/randomnickname
Summary: "Why can't you ever do what I tell you to?"Justin decides that for once, he will.





	Obedience

**Author's Note:**

> For Ari, for being the best enabler of ridiculous, self-indulgent porn one could wish for, and a wonderful person altogether. Happy birthday <3

It starts with dumpling dough.

"Where are the last two eggs?" Giriko says, head in the fridge.

Justin guiltily looks up from his book. "Uhm. I might have made myself an omelet last evening. Did you need them?"

Giriko leans back to shoot Justin a threatening glare. "You're not fucking serious."

The priest grimaces in answer.

"Oh, fuck you!" Giriko fulminates, and slams the fridge door shut so hard the entire device rattles. "Couldn't you say so before I prepared the fucking filling? How am I gonna make a proper dough now?"

He stomps back to the counter, shooting Justin an irate look over his shoulder, and glances down at the baking utensil he's already laid out, shaking his head in disgust.

"On a fucking Sunday, too!" he adds vehemently.

"Eh. Sorry," Justin says.

"Yeah, sure you are," Giriko snarls, and pours flour into a bowl with unnecessary force, coating the counter top in white dust. "Gonna have to use _oil_ , it's gonna be a disgusting, sticky _mess_ -"

The rest of the sentence is lost in indistinct cursing while he adds the other ingredients. Justin scoots closer and tries to hug him from behind, but the chainsaw elbows him away. It stings.

"Can I do something to help?" Justin still asks, conciliatory, and perches himself on the counter top at a secure distance, rubbing his rib.

"If you can't lay eggs, then no, you can't," Giriko grumps, and begins to aggressively knead the mixture. He's silent for a minute while he works the dough into a semblance of shape, and Justin is left to ogle the ripple of corded muscles under tan skin. Then the chainsaw resumes talking without looking up from his task, tone heated again as the dough sticks to his fingers:

"I fuckin' told you I needed those eggs, dammit! You're such a lousy ass. Why can't you ever do what I tell you to?"

"I do, sometimes," Justin answers. It's true - when the mood is right, he's more than willing to play along. He can think of a particular occasion a few nights ago, and the memory of it stirs something hot deep within his guts. The chainsaw's murmured orders - _on your knees, open up, faster, more -_ replay on his mind like a feverish dream, and he finds himself growing slightly hard. He wets his lips, discretely adjusts his jeans to give himself more room.

Giriko snorts, oblivious to the priest's discomfort. "As if."

He's got a fleck of flour on his nose now, and Justin wants to lick it away. His gaze roams along Giriko's bare arms, shamelessly drinking in the flex of biceps and the strength of those large hands, and there's lust unfurling in his loins like a fiery, tentacular beast. He squirms and tightens his grip on the counter top, palms somewhat sweaty now. Damn, he is horny. He wants wants wants wants _wants_ \- not simply sex, but something more, something more encompassing, more visceral. And then before he can think it over he has opened his mouth on a very stupid sentence.

"You know, I would, if you asked nicely," he hears himself say, and has to swallow. He feels tense, too tight, too hot.

"Would what?"

"Do what you tell me to."

Giriko looks up, and startles when he sees Justin's expression.

" _Whatever_ you tell me to," Justin adds, a slow, deliberate smile spreading on his face. Beneath the cool composure his heart is hammering a wild beat in his chest, and he's over-aware of the way his pulse thrums in his fingertips, on his throat, between his thighs.

Giriko frowns, and shakes his head in irritation, going back to kneading. "Stop fucking around."

"I'm serious," Justin insists, catching Giriko's gaze again, and slowly parts his lips, gaze heavy-lidded, in case his intent wasn't clear. "You just have to ask."

Giriko's eyes widen as comprehension dawns on him, and the priest makes a show of pointedly looking down at his watch.

"At least, during the next ... let's say hour, starting now." He blinks languorously, and glances at Giriko from beneath his eye lashes, mock-shy. "So?"

The chainsaw stares at him for a few seconds, dumbstruck - but then he barks an incredulous laugh.

"What?" he snorts. "You want to be my little fucktoy for the evening?"

Justin wrinkles his nose at the crude choice of words, but the corner of his mouth still twitches. "Maybe."

Giriko grins at that, a weird, perplex half-smile. He silently looks at Justin for a while, until the priest almost squirms under the attention. Then he lets go of his ball of dough and steps in to stand between Justin's legs. He brings up a hand, resting his fingertips against Justin's mouth.

"Clean up."

Justin obediently parts his lips and sucks at Giriko's fingertips, scraping at the nails with his teeth to get them rid of sticky dough remnants. It tastes of flour, and a bit salty. The chainsaw watches without a word, his expression almost contemplative.

"Whatever I ask you too, huh," he says after a while, and carefully frees his hand from Justin's mouth. He runs his saliva-wet thumb along the blond's temple, adjusts a hair strand behind his ear. Justin nods, throat dry.

"Not afraid I'll tell you to jump out of that window?" Giriko asks with a tip of the chin towards the kitchen window.

"I honestly doubt you'd do that."

Giriko smirks. "But you're willing to take that risk." He drops his hand to Justin's thigh, grinds the heel of his palm against the tell-tale bulge. "And you get off on that."

Justin exhales softly. The chainsaw's hand rests heavy on his crotch, the fabric of the priest's jeans too thin to ignore it and too thick to get proper stimulation. He refrains the urge to rock up, fighting hard to keep his reactions in check.

Giriko watches him attentively.

"Sometimes I wonder what goes on in that pretty head of yours," he says, and Justin huffs, amused. He, too, would like to know what brought this on, is confused by his own want - he just knows that it's _there_ and that the sensation of squirming self-consciousness Giriko's scrutiny calls forth is as tantalizing as it is excruciating.

The chainsaw softly kneads Justin's crotch for a moment, a faint echo of the way he manhandled the dough earlier, seeming to ponder again. But then something shifts in his gaze, a mischievous glint appearing out of nowhere, and suddenly his face is full of barely concealed glee.

"D'you still have that, uhm, _gift_ from your Dutch colleagues?" he asks. His lips are tightly pressed against each other like he's trying to reign in a laughter.

 _Oh no._ Justin loudly groans, and Giriko flashes him a wide, triumphant grin. He looks supremely pleased with himself.

"Seriously?" Justin whines. "You get to order me around for an hour and _that's_ what you come up with?"

The chainsaw's chest heaves with silent laughter, and he slowly nods, his grin not faltering.

Justin sighs, dramatically slumping down. "Why the hell did I tell you about that?"

"'Cause you wanted to convince me you're not a complete bore," the chainsaw promptly retorts. He takes a step back, and drags Justin from his perch on the counter by the front of his jeans. The grin fades, and his voice takes on a steely ring of command. "I think I need further convincing. Go get changed."

Justin doesn't want to, really he doesn't, but if he's to keep up his own promise he has no choice, and the novel thrill of it is enough to heat him up. He can feel Giriko's gaze, iron-hot between his shoulder blades, and can't resist the temptation of adding a ridiculous roll of the hip to his gait as he walks down the corridor. He hears the other snigger, and smiles to himself while he closes the bedroom door.

Now where did he put that thing? After a minute of searching, he finds the old cardboard box on the top shelve of a cupboard, and sneezes when dust fills his nose. The box is full of trinkets, useless sentimental junk he couldn't convince himself to sort out. He rummages through the content until his fingers take hold of flimsy fabric, and represses a sigh of dread.

He blames all of this on boredom.

A few years back he attended a week-long seminar in Amsterdam, destined to improve cross-country communication between the different European branches of the DWMA. The typical ice-breaker activities were mind-numbingly boring, and when it had been Justin's turn to tell what alternative careers he'd considered on his path to becoming a Death Scythe he had very seriously answered, "stripper". Which resulted in collective hilarity and the parting gift he is currently holding. He really should have burned it as soon as he was offered it.

He fiddles with the neon pink g-string in his hands, vaguely repulsed. The glittery fabric feels rough beneath his fingers. He takes a deep breath, and starts to undress.

The thing is at uncomfortable as it looks. The string digs into the cleft of his ass, and the front is molded to his crotch as if vacuum-sealed, leaving nothing to the imagination. He takes one look at himself in the mirror, and cringes in embarrassment. He looks ridiculous, and really, well ... _slutty_. He spends an entire minute with one hand on the doorknob, trying to convince his limbs to cooperate, but in the end it takes Giriko impatiently calling his name to bring him out of the bedroom.

The chainsaw has his back turned to him - he is comparing two bottles of liquor, and Justin has a few seconds left to wonder what the hell he is doing, what kind of weird brain malfunction decided letting his boyfriend give him orders was a good idea. Then Giriko turns around and sees him.

His eyes widen, and his gaze scans Justin from head to toe - the blond feels himself blushing in immediate response. The chainsaw stares at the string for what feels like an eternity.

Then he blurts out, "Pink is not your color," and doubles over, howling with laughter.

Justin feels as if his face is being set aflame, and refrains the urge to hide behind his hands - but his unease must show, since Giriko only laughs harder every time he looks at him. Justin wants to crawl into the deepest, darkest hole he can find and perish so that atrocious embarrassment can finally be over. But the other's hilarity doesn't pass, until Giriko has to take a seat, wiping away a few stray tears.

"Oh fuck," he wheezes, out of breath. "Oh fuck, this is so much worse than I imagined. You should see your _face_!..."

"I'd rather not, thank you," Justin mutters. He stands awkwardly, painfully aware how much of him is on display.

Giriko grins, and makes a little twirling motion with one finger, signifying the blond to turn around. Justin lifts his arms and slowly turns on the spot like a display dummy. Already some of the blazing self-consciousness is bleeding over into arousal, and he knows it shows, but he can't hide his nascent erection without drawing more attention to it, his embarrassment and his excitement feeding each other in a vicious, painful circle of shame.

The chainsaw seems to appreciate the sight, though.

"That thing admittedly does nice things for your ass," he comments with a wolf-whistle. His eyes are sparkling with delight. He picks up a bottle of vodka and gestures towards the stereo with the bottom of it.

"Put on some music, sweetheart," he drawls. "I want you to dance for me."

Justin pulls a face, horrified. "Oh come _on_ ," he complains. "You know I can't dance for the life of me!"

The chainsaw only grins harder. "Well your stripper career has to start _somewhere_ , ain't it?"

"You're awful."

"You can even choose the music!" Giriko cheerfully points out, and reclines deeper into his chair, folding his hands on his belly with an expectant expression.

"How _magnanimous_ ," Justin mutters. He quickly browses through his music database until he finds a somewhat languorous song he can put on, a piece with slow, heavy beats and sultry synths, and takes a deep breath, bracing himself.

Then he turns back to the chainsaw, trying to fake a confidence he couldn't be further from feeling. His cheeks feel impossibly hot, his heart is thundering, and there's a cheap glitter string grinding against his asshole with each movement. How can he be remotely comfortable in those circumstances?

He strides towards his boyfriend in time with the beat, shifting his shoulders and hips a bit in a mimicry of lasciviousness. The music picks up and he tries to seductively move his arms, but his movements feel stilted and wooden - he's never felt that ridiculous in his life, and the way Giriko has to stifle a laughter really doesn't help.

"Oh _yeaaah_ , show it to me!" the other calls with a lewd mimic, and Justin almost hits him.

"Har har," he says instead, as deadpan as is possible while wearing neon pink lingerie. "You're hilarious."

The music mercilessly goes on, and enduring more of this seems impossible - he's close to calling it all off, but he's bound by his word. Damn, he _hates_ dancing, the beat he can feel strumming in his blood unable to transcribe properly into movements, the self-consciousness of his own inadequacy. He's much more graceful when he tears kishins to pieces. It's frustrating even on good days, and now, without any clothes to conceal the awkwardness of his movements and the chainsaw's gaze heavy on him, it's a hundred time worse. But somehow it's also getting him more hot and bothered by the second.

Giriko enjoys his suffering for a further minute, the embodiment of _schadenfreude_ , then slaps his thighs with the flat of his hands. "C'mere," he orders.

Justin dutifully crosses the remaining distance and seats himself on the chainsaw's lap, looping his arms around the other's neck. Some of the shame recedes now that he's safe from leering gazes, and when he captures his boyfriend's mouth in a scorching kiss he feels like he's regaining control of the situation. Giriko's body is warm and familiar under his, his lips compliant, so Justin can make himself forget what he's wearing and how embarrassing this all is, and enjoy his partner's taste.

That is, until the chainsaw breaks the kiss to breathe, " _Lap daaaance_ " in his ear.

"Uhm."

Justin only has the vaguest notion of what a lap dance looks like, honestly - something involving strippers and grinding, as far as he can tell. But Giriko's gaze is getting stern, a new expression that Justin deems hotter than it is annoying. So he places his feet on the floor, braces himself on Giriko's shoulders for leverage, and cants his hips forward a few time, clumsily bumping into the other's crotch.

The chainsaw chuckles. "You're ridiculous," he says fondly. "Here, lemme show you how it's done."

He takes hold of Justin's hips and guides him until he gets the gist of the rhythmic, rotating motion, then lets go and leans back, looking like he's enjoying himself. Justin has to keep focused in order not to fall out of balance, which helps against the embarrassment of his 'performance', but still, each time he brushes against Giriko's crotch through the glittery fabric he grows harder, and from the quiet noises of appreciation he hears past the music the chainsaw notices it too.

"Turn over," Giriko commands after the song starts over for the third time. Justin climbs down from his lap with no comment, thighs starting to ache from the unnatural half-squatting position, and sits down again, with his back to Giriko this time. He can feel something hard against his ass - so he must be doing _something_ right, at least.

"Down with you." The chainsaw presses one palm between his shoulder blades, and pushes until he's bent forward like a folding chair. "Good."

Justin is confused - he can't really move without falling forward, and he's straining with the effort of maintaining that awkward position. What does Giriko get from this?

There's the sound of a bottle being opened, then something achingly cold pours down Justin's spine. He jerks up with an exclamation of surprise, and the liquid trails down his back and into the crack of his ass.

He's roughly shoved back down. "Hold _still_ ," Giriko growls.

"What are you doing?" Justin gasps. "What is ... _eek_!" A second round of cold liquid is poured on his skin, but this time he manages to repress his instinctive spasm of response.

" _Good_ ," Giriko purrs close to his ear, and then there's a warm tongue lapping up the liquid along his spine. This time the shiver Justin has to repress is one of pure pleasure.

"Ewww," he still complains, as a matter of principle. "Is that alcohol?" He can smell it now, a sharp pungent scent. "That's _gross_."

"Shuddup," Giriko mumbles against his skin, steadily licking his way up Justin's back. "Hmmm. Tastes of you."

"You're _vile_ ," the blond says with a conviction that is soon sapped when Giriko twists his head to the side to kiss him. The chainsaw's lips are sticky with liquor, and Justin very much dislikes the taste of it on the other's tongue - usually he would probably resist Giriko's approaches just to make a point. But right now he's to obey, to go along with Giriko's ideas whether he appreciates them or not, and that's heady in and of itself and more than makes up for the taste of alcohol.

The chainsaw snakes his arm around Justin's midriff, twirls around and rearranges them so that now Justin's sitting on the chair with Giriko heavy on top of him. Giriko tweaks his shoulder up and forward so the collarbone forms a cavity, pours himself another shot and drinks it up straight from the blond's skin. It tickles, and there's a cold burning sensation as soon as Giriko's lips are gone. But it's countered by the heat pooling in his loins.

The game goes on, Justin's body a mere vessel for Giriko to lap up booze from, his tongue boldly exploring the hollows of the blond's navel, shoulders, throat. Justin feels like clay under Giriko's confident hands, nudged into place and forced to hold awkward positions, the alcohol dripping down his limbs like he's a figure on a fountain. Soon both of them are soaked, and between the smell of liquor all around him and the one he tastes on Giriko's tongue whenever he kisses him, Justin is feeling dizzy and lightheaded.

"Fuck, you taste good," Giriko sighs against his chest, and licks up a rivulet of vodka up to the blond's Adam apple. He nibbles on Justin's jaw, more gentle than usual, which means the pain is tingling rather than scathing. "I could eat you up whole, I swear."

That summons up pictures of what else the chainsaw could be doing with his mouth, and Justin bucks up, slowly getting desperate for more specific stimulation.

"Giriko..." he whines, giving the other's hair an urgent tug.

He can feel Giriko's laughter rumbling against his ribs, then the chainsaw presses a sloppy kiss to his ear. "You're so _impatient_ ," he croons, a low whisper that sends a shiver rushing down Justin's spine. "So eager for a good dicking." He roams one hand along the blond's back, pressing his knuckles hard along the spine until he has Justin's nape cupped in his palm. "My eager little _slut_."

The insult sounds almost affectionate. It's why when Justin headbutts Giriko it's a hit bound to produce a goose egg, not break the nasal bone. The chainsaw grimaces in pain, but then he shoots Justin an amused, lopsided grin.

"Not so obedient now, are you?"

"You didn't specify I wasn't allowed to hurt you," Justin retorts.

Giriko's eyes shift down to the blond's mouth, narrowed to slits of heated hazel. "Now where'd be the fun in _that_?"

There's so much promise, so much _intent_ behind that sentence, and Justin can't help the needy sound that escapes his lips. He grabs Giriko's hip, pulling him closer as he rocks up in wordless demand.

"Alright, alright," the chainsaw says. He crushes Justin's lip for one brief, hard kiss, then stands up, pulling the blond with him. And then heaves him up and over his shoulders in a fireman carry, one arm securely wrapped around his thigh. The sudden shift in gravity makes Justin yelp, and so does Giriko happily slapping his naked butt cheek.

"You ... damn ... caveman," Justin grits out, rattled by Giriko's long strides towards the bedroom. "Why do I put up with you aga- _whoaaaah_!"

He bounces on the mattress on which Giriko has unceremoniously tossed him, and almost knocks his head on the nightstand. He scrambles back up to glare at Giriko, who is currently doffing his shirt in one fluid motion. The chainsaw flings it aside and gives Justin a lazy wink.

"Cause I'm hot," he declares, unbuckling his belt

Justin presses his lips together to hide his amusement, and raises a sarcastic eyebrow. "Yes, that's most certainly the reason."

Although, he thinks while eying Giriko dropping his pants and feeling his mouth run out of saliva at the expanse of tan skin, there certainly were stupider reasons.

Giriko hopped on the bed, grabbing Justin's chin in the same movement. "So, my little fucktoy," he begins, and grins at Justin's angry frown. "How 'bout we get to business. What should we do know, hmm?"

He blows hot on Justin's mouth, breath reeking of vodka, and the darkness in his eyes, the possessiveness of his fingers on Justin's jaw reignites the powerful, visceral _want_ that brought this all about. There's a particular thrill to surrender, to actively deciding to forgo one's own needs and blow caution to the wind, and damn if that thrill hasn't completely overcome Justin. His eyes drop half-shut, his mouth slack with desire.

"Whatever you want," he softly gasps, meaning every word. "Just do me already."

" _Fuck_ ," Giriko spits, and shoves Justin backwards. "Fuck, you can't look at me like that and expect me to be _original_ or some shit."

There's anger on his face as he rummages through the nightstand's content, but Justin knows better and lays back on the covers, smiling at the ceiling as his heart beats a staccato in his chest.

Soon Giriko's on him with slick fingers and a threatening tilt to his mouth. "I just want to be _in_ you, shit, what do you fuckin' _think_ I want," he growls, nudges one of Justin's thigh aside and shoves two fingers up his ass without warning.

Justin silently exhales, trying hard to relax against the intrusion and not tighten up. Giriko works him open fast and rough, his other hand resting heavily on Justin's stomach. He's also staring at Justin's glitter-clad crotch like it has personally offended him, so it's not a surprise when there's a little metallic whir and the fabric comes off entirely. Justin shoots the torn string a vague look and inwardly shrugs, making a mental note to address his Dutch colleagues his best thanks.

"Damn," Giriko mutters, and gives his fingers a last impatient twitch that have Justin gasping. Without wasting any time the chainsaw hoists Justin's legs over his shoulders and aligns himself. Justin holds his breath, and then Giriko's already entering him in one forceful push. It's too much, too early and Justin reels with discomfort, but then the slight pain recedes to a more pleasurable level. There's so much sensation, friction and warmth and pleasure, all coming together and taking Justin apart, and then Giriko starts _moving_ and his angry scowl morphs to an expression of raw bliss.

Tenderness swells through Justin at that sight, but then Giriko shifts his hold to pound into him in earnest, and all soft feelings are washed away by an agonizing wave of heat. Justin grabs the bedsheets in lack of anything better to hold onto, his mouth open on choked-up moans - he hears Giriko's panting, and the certitude that he's in good hands, fulfilling his boyfriend's desires, makes Justin's head swim with bright pleasure.

Then Giriko brings a slippery hand to Justin's flushed cock, starts pumping at a quick pace. His chest is glistening with sweat. They lock gazes, Giriko's filled with urgent craving, Justin's barely focused.

"You're gotta do what I tell you to, right?" Giriko pants, eyes ablaze, and slides a thumb across the wet head of Justin's cock. "Then _be mine_."

"I am," Justin says earnestly, and moans at a particular forceful thrust, tension building steadily at the base of his spine.

Giriko nods as if he's convinced, frowning in concentration as his hand on Justin's cock speeds up. "And fuckin' _come_ for me," he orders. And who's Justin not to obey?

There are a few moments missing then, reality skips forward a few frames while Justin whimpers his pleasure, and when he comes back to himself Giriko's already there too, giving a few last jerky thrusts with a litany of curses tumbling from his lips. There's a final wordless shout of pleasure, then Giriko sits back, sighing.

They maneuver themselves into a more comfortable position, tangled up in each other and sticky with sweat, liquor and other fluids, and Giriko doesn't protest the hand caressing his face, just wraps a leg around the blond to draw him closer still. They lay there for a long while, cooling down, their breaths intermingled.

Just when Justin thought he fell asleep, Giriko opens one eye.

"Can I order you to go borrow eggs from the neighbors?" he asks.

Justin squints at the non-sequitur, then looks over his shoulder at the bedside clock. "Nope. Time's up."

Giriko pouts. "Shit," he mutters. "D'you think they'd answer the door if I'm the one who goes?"

"After what happened last time? Not a chance in hell."

Giriko grumbles something, too low for Justin to catch, and borrows his head in the blond's shoulder. He soon starts softly snoring.

 

*

 

In the end, the dumplings are messy, but delicious. Sounds just about right, Justin thinks, and helps himself to a second serving.


End file.
